Chapter 70
The temperature of the embrace kept rising. What had been a steady, peaceful rhythm suddenly shifted because of Denji's blunt declaration.
"As punishment for dressing so erotically, I'm going to hug you tighter… deeper."
As Denji's low, husky words faded beside her ear, the once simple hug instantly changed flavor.
He tightened his arms.
What began as the simplest "family" hold transformed into the deepest "lover's" dependence.
With that undeniable strength, Makima could clearly feel the two soft mounds wrapped in silk fabric on her chest pressing seamlessly against Denji's firm chest.
The thin satin deformed under the pressure; the lace in the middle clung even tighter to her skin. She could even feel the scorching heat radiating from his body.
"Mmm…"
A very soft, nasal hum escaped Makima's throat uncontrollably.
In this blazing heat, she felt as though electric current had pierced through every limb—she was about to ignite.
This embrace was too deep.
Deep enough that she felt her entire body sinking into his arms.
Her chin rested on his broad shoulder; her cheek brushed the skin of his neck—that real, living touch made her dizzy.
The clean, uniquely Denji pheromone scent on his body was no longer a gentle spring breeze; it had become an airtight net.
With every breath, that scent drilled into her lungs. She even caught a faint trace of salty sweat evaporation—whether hers or his, she couldn't tell. All these smells mixed with Denji's pleasant fragrance, dominantly occupying every one of her senses.
Their bodies' outlines intertwined vaguely beneath the fabric. The air filled with their staggered, heavy breathing—the surging desire was no longer almost, but already overflowing through their voices.
The air itself seemed to steam up from the wet, burning heat.
Green light → yellow → red!
That primal, sexually charged attraction made her feel as though a long-dormant switch deep inside her body had been violently flipped—a long-lost craving for "being conquered."
This feeling intoxicated her almost beyond control.
Both body and spirit surrendered; she let herself drown in this emotion with indescribable obedience.
Her cheek brushed past his… scorching Adam's apple.
That instant of contact made her whole body go weak; she finally recovered a shred of fragmented reason from the dizzying domination.
She blinked; long, curled lashes fluttered like startled butterfly wings, casting panicked, dazed shadows beneath her fair eyelids.
The trembling carried a broken beauty—like silent begging, or inviting deeper exploration.
She lifted those eyes soaked in mist; the corners flushed with emotion, lips parted damply, carrying a fragility even she hadn't noticed.
"Mmm… sorry~"
Her tone rose slightly; the ending carried a very light tremor—as though confirming, hesitating, or perhaps coquettishly complaining.
Those always empty golden-ringed eyes were now fogged, brimming with glistening water light; reflected in them was nothing but Denji's face right in front of her.
Hearing her obedient yet slightly clumsy reaction, Denji—while dazed in spirit—couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from twitching and curling. That urge to "bully" her grew even stronger.
He lowered his head until the tip of his nose nearly touched her forehead. His tone carried a "I won't let you off even when I could" kind of unreasonable edge; his breathing was rapid, voice hoarse and low from a dry throat:
"I didn't say you did anything wrong. Actually I quite like you like this. But liking you doesn't exempt you from punishment—especially when your mistake is my reward. So I like it even more when you make mistakes like this in my hands~"
The words were absurdly funny; by the end even he couldn't hold back. Yet he loved teasing her like this~
Watching Makima's stunned, dazed expression, low laughter spilled from his throat. The sound resonated in his chest, vibrating through Makima where she pressed against him—making her whole body tingle.
In the chaotic intoxication and softness, she finally found a real, clear, transparent piece that could reflect everything in the world—"humanity."
"So… no need to hold back~" Makima tested, whispering the sentence. The ending even carried a touch of playful innocence.
That golden-ringed gaze now clearly sparkled with liveliness—a childish cunning~
This time, her emotion wasn't imitation; it naturally emerged from the depths of her heart, from the bottom of her soul—the true treasure of humanity: complete and authentic "humanity."
Denji watched her like this; the restless heart in his chest finally settled.
He let out a low laugh; the laughter no longer carried restless aggression, but gradually returned to peaceful doting.
"Heh… silly."
Makima restrained her cunning a little. She looked up at Denji, slightly sulky, and asked carefully:
"Did I… say something wrong again?"
Denji lifted his hand and gently wiped away the physiological tears at the corner of her eye with his thumb—tears caused by external factors.
"No. This time you got it right."
"Oh~"
She didn't pursue what Denji meant by "silly." Hearing his approval, her heart overflowed with a small proud joy~
She even began adjusting her posture—wrapping her arms around him in return while wriggling in the gaps of his embrace, nestling more comfortably in Denji's arms, cheek rubbing against his warm neck.
Denji kept watching her little movements with gentle eyes. His originally tense body fully relaxed; the sudden explosive "lust" and "heat" slowly melted into pure warmth.
He loosened the hold a little but still kept her firmly circled in his arms. He made no further outrageous moves—just held her waist and backed up, half-stumbling, half-falling together onto the wide walnut low bed.
The mattress dipped slightly. The two lay overlapping.
Denji opened his arms a little; Makima obediently rolled sideways into his embrace.
Denji reached for the remote and played the selected film.
The screen lit up—no grand narrative, no bloody battles—just a steaming street scene.
The camera focused on a big bubbling pot; plump meat chunks and soft vegetables stewed inside, glossy with oil, the aroma almost leaking through the screen.
Oh~ It's a food documentary.
Makima wasn't watching the screen. Her gaze stayed entirely on Denji.
She tilted her head, cheek against his shoulder, watching his focused profile. Occasionally she followed his line of sight to glance at the "human fireworks" on screen.
The light in her eyes grew fuller and fuller.
She extended one finger and lightly poked his Adam's apple, feeling his breathing—as though confirming this most precious "family," "lover," "beloved"…
Denji didn't move; he let her play. The two simply held each other without speaking.
Denji's hand patted her back lightly, rhythmically—like coaxing a child to sleep.
Makima curled in his arms like a pet that had finally found its home—fingertips unconsciously clutching his shirt hem, breathing gradually steady.
The room's light flickered with the documentary's scenes; everything felt so peaceful, warm, filled with ordinary happiness.
Only the sizzling sounds from the documentary and their steady breathing remained in the room.
Until the sound of frying eggs came from the documentary—Denji reluctantly pressed pause.
He looked down at the person in his arms, thinking she had fallen asleep.
Yet in this quiet moment, Makima suddenly lifted her head.
Those eyes shone startlingly bright in the dim light—brimming with newly learned, still clumsy longing.
She propped herself up, leaned close to Denji's ear, hot moist breath spraying against his earlobe. In a tone never used before—serious yet hiding playfulness and seduction—she whispered:
"Denji… watching the things in the documentary… makes you hungrier and hungrier. How about… we have something more 'substantial' for a midnight snack?"
Makima's voice trembled with suppressed desire; her small hand groped…
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